


Sweet Dreams

by thoughtsthatfester



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-20 07:23:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8241191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtsthatfester/pseuds/thoughtsthatfester
Summary: Gaby slept soundly when she and Illya were together. Now that they've broken up, all she wants is a good night sleep.





	1. Chapter 1

Illya’s neighborhood isn’t the kind of place she should be walking through alone at night. She ignores the anxious pit in her stomach; she’s a trained operative after all, even if she is sleep deprived. She’s exhausted and her mind is playing tricks on her. No one is following her. No one is going to attack her. She just needs to sleep and she’ll stop seeing danger in every shadow. 

Waverley had suggested that she get a prescription for sleeping pills, which had helped at first but she’d quickly built up a tolerance. Alcohol wasn’t helping much either, not with what’s been occupying her mind. 

She picks up her pace, eager to get to Illya’s before another monster appears in the shadows. 

Illya’s flat is a recent construction, one lacking both the charm and amenities of her building. But Illya loved it. His neighborhood was popular with Eastern European immigrants and was the center of communist activity in the city. It reminded him of home.

They’d spent many nights eating take away from the restaurant on the corner of his street. He’d insist that they eat on real plates even though he didn’t have a kitchen table and they’d sit on the floor of his living room, eating atop his coffee table. He had planned to build his own furniture when he’d leased it months ago, butt he constant missions had gotten in the way. It’s been a while since she’s slept over. He’d all but cut off contact with her. He’d chosen to fall on his sword even though no one had asked him too. It was for her own safety, he’d told her. Bullshit, she’d declared. She wasn’t afraid, but he’d confessed that he was. So she dropped the subject, at least for a while. Illya could be made to see reason, see how ridiculous he is being. 

She knocks on his door and waits. Illya’s flat was in what she believed was a terrible location. It was situated at the end of the hall, near the stairs, with no view. It was safer that way, he’d told her. A sniper would have no shot if they tried to take him out while he was home. He’d scouted the area; there were no sniper perches with a clean shot. Her heart ached when he’d told her – what a burden he had to bear. For all her training, she never considered tactical advantages when picking a place to live. 

There’s no response but she’s not leaving. She knows he’s in London, or at least he was this morning. She knows; she checked. If he’s not going to answer, she’s going to let herself in. 

She removes a pin from her hair and bends it to a lock picking tool just like Napoleon had taught her. She looks over her shoulder to ensure that no one is coming. From his door she can see the entire hallway. Confident that no one will interrupt, she gets to work on the lock. 

It’s more difficult than the ones she’s practiced on, but she knows she can do it. She just needs time.

“What are you doing?” the voice asks from behind. She hadn’t heard anyone coming.

She turns to face him. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“So you’re not breaking into my apartment?”

“Maybe it’s what it looks like, but please just let me in. We need to talk.”

He nods, unlocking the door and holding it open for her. 

“You built furniture. It’s nice.”

“Thank you. I finally had time. Now tell me, what are you doing here?”

“I can’t sleep,” she says, shrugging off her coat and dropping it on the floor. He picks it up and puts it on a hanger and into the small closet in his entry. She steps out of her wellies and peels off her socks. 

She makes herself at home, flopping down on his couch. Her bright red flannel pajamas are a stark contrast to his drab grey couch. 

“And what would you like me to do about it?” he asks, stepping forward to join her in the living room. He steps around the coffee table, looking down at her on the couch.

She takes a deep breath, prepared to recite the speech she’d come up with on her way over. She stands up on the unstable cushion to look him in the eye. Her voice cracks when she goes to speak. “I’m so tired,” she sobs, collapsing forward onto him. She buries his face in the itchy wool of his sweater. “I just want to sleep in your bed. Please, Illya. I always slept well with you.”

“Gaby—“

“No, shut up. I’m so tired that it’s getting dangerous. This is all your fault. I don’t want to hear whatever excuse you’re going to come up with about why this is a bad idea. This isn’t a trick. This isn’t a seduction. I just want to sleep.”

“I was going to say is – this is okay. You look very tired. You look like you need to sleep.”

“If I weren’t so tired I would hit you,” she says, pushing herself off his chest. “That’s not something you should say to a lady.”

“I will make you a cup of tea.”

“Thank you,” she chokes out and heads into his bedroom. She pulls back the covers and climbs beneath his crisp white sheets. No matter how hard she tried she could never get her corners as tight as Illya did when he made the bed. The special forces had taught him well. 

He enters with a cup of tea and places it on a coaster on the bedside table. 

“When was the last time you slept? And I mean sleep, not get so drunk that you pass out on the couch.”

She ignores the question and takes a sip from the steaming cup of chamomile tea. It’s spiked with scotch, just the way she likes. 

“Gaby?”

“Not since the night we returned from Paris.”

His face betrays nothing. “You should have come sooner.”

“You made it pretty clear that you wanted nothing to do with me,” she snarls, unable to help herself. She’s too tired for self-control. 

“I am trying to protect you. It is not safe. I have told you this.”

“Have you ever stopped to think that maybe I do not need your protection?”

“Let’s not argue. Drink your tea and try to sleep, please.”

He leaves his spot beside the bed and takes off his watch, placing it on the top of his dresser. He pulls his turtleneck over his head and tosses it into the hamper. He sits down on the bench at the end of his bed and takes off his shoes and belt before standing again to take off his pants. He folds them carefully and deposits them in a drawer. 

“What were you doing out so late?” she asks before taking a large sip of tea. 

“None of your business,” he answers, distracted and pulling out pajamas from his drawer. 

“Up to no good then?” she quirks an eyebrow at him. 

“No.”

“If you’re not going to tell me, I’m going to guess.”

“You should go to sleep. You were on the verge of collapse with exhaustion minutes ago.”

“Were you on a date?”

“No!”

“Were you on a mission?”

“No. You should go to sleep.”

“I’m not done with my tea yet. I’ll sleep when I’m finished,” she takes a gulp of her tea. “Were you helping old ladies cross the street?”

“You are not going to stop, are you?”

“Not until you tell me what you were doing out so late.”

“I was at a meeting.”

“You said you weren’t working.”

“Communist party meeting.”

“I’m sorry I asked,” she laughs. “Illya, will you come to bed?”

“Yes but no more talking,” he sighs. “You need to sleep.” 

The mattress dips beside her as Illya climbs into bed. He is careful not to touch her, not to cross the invisible line in the center of the bed. 

“I’ve missed you,” she tells him. “I’ve missed this.”

“Gaby—“

“Hush. Let us pretend for a night that we’re friends. You can go back to ignoring me in the morning.” She sips her tea and waits for his response, unable to control her tongue. Every time they’ve been around each other Napoleon has been there. She wants him to yell at her or get angry, anything but the stony silence. 

“You are my friend,” he says quietly. “You are tired. Please, try to go to sleep. If you are still mad at me in the morning, we can discuss this.”

“Fine,” she concedes, finishing her tea and sinking down into her pillow. “We’ll continue this in the morning.” She reaches up and turns off the lamp on the bedside table. 

She rolls over to face him, looks at him through the darkness. He stares back, finally crossing the invisible line and reaching up to touch her. His fingers weave through her hair, soothing her and leaching out the anger. “Sleep,” he whispers and she thinks she will. His bed is warm and he’s playing with her hair. Maybe, she thinks, they won’t have to fight in the morning. She falls asleep thinking pleasant thoughts and she does not dream. 

She wakes pressed against him. His arms are tight around her chest and he’s hard against the back of her thighs. Outside, rain is falling and the sky is dark. She closes her eyes and feigns sleep a little longer.


	2. Chapter 2

She feels him tense against her and she knows he’s up. She’s always been jealous of his ability to sleep. He could sleep anywhere and fall asleep easily. While she tossed and turned and struggled with insomnia, he was snoring the second his head hit his pillow. He could sleep on planes, and trains, and even curled up in the backseat of the car while she drove down a winding, pothole filled road. He had tried to teach her, insisted that the ability to sleep could be taught, but her insomnia proved too much for even KGB sleep techniques to tame. 

She needs to act before he wakes fully and realizes she’s pressed against him. She can’t have him putting distance between them. She turns to face him, grinding against him as she rolls over.

“Good morning,” she purrs, looking at him through her thick dark lashes. 

“How did you sleep?” he asks, opening his eyes and pulling back slightly. It is just enough to break contact between them. His hair is askew and his eyes are still heavy with sleep. There’s a boyishness to him that she rarely gets to see. She’s always liked him like this – softer. He’s not an intimidating KGB officer like this; he’s just Illya. 

“Like I’d been properly fucked,” she says, looking him directly in the eyes. They widen with shock at her statement. 

He groans and sits up before nearly leaping out of bed. “I am going to shower.”

“Are you going to think about me in there?” she asks, sitting up in bed as he crosses the room.

“Gaby—“ he pauses, pivoting to face her.

“Oh, you’re going to take a cold shower then?” she smirks.

“I am happy that you slept but I think it is time for you to go.”

“If you insist, but you know how I get in the morning. If I leave I’ll have to go and find another bloke to get me off.”

“Where are you going to go? Stand on street corner?” he growls.

“Don’t take out your ridiculous self-denial on me,” she crosses her arms. 

“I cannot be in a relationship with you. I have told you as much. It is dangerous.”

“I’m sorry,” she spits, “so I can sleep in your arms but anything more than that is unsafe?”

“Yes.”

“Are there bugs in your flat?”

“Of course not,” he says, taken aback. “I check.”

“So, no one is listening, but is anyone watching?”

“There are not good vantage points into the windows but I would not know if someone was watching the outside unless I scouted.”

“So if there is anyone watching your flat they’ll have no idea what we did, just that I was leaving in the morning. If anyone sees me leaving they might assume that we’d done more than just snuggle. So if they’re going to assume, why don’t we just…”

“This is not about sex.”

“Then what is it about Illya? Because I would like to understand,” she shouts rising to her knees atop the mattress. 

“I love you. Can you not see how dangerous that is?” He cries, raising his voice for the first time. 

Gaby is stunned into silence by the confession. She’d felt the weight of the words in every interaction but she’d never heard them. He never said it. She never did either. 

“We have a problem then,” she says quietly, sinking down, her feet digging into her butt. 

“I am sorry. I should not have said it, now please, let me shower.”

“That’s not what I meant. Illya, you’re being an idiot. If we feel the same way then the danger is already there regardless of whether or not we’re actually sleeping together. And besides, a mission could go wrong tomorrow and I could be dead. If that happens I’d like to at least have some fun before hand.”

“I would never let than happen.” 

“Then sleep with me,” she pleads. 

His gaze hardens and he moves quickly across the room, finding himself at the end of the bed looking down at her. “This is what this is about? You will be in danger because you cannot control your urges,” he says ghosting a finger down her arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. 

She again rises to her knees on the bed took better look him in the eye. Her eyes flicker as she practically dares him to close the distance between them. 

“No,” she sighs. “This is about sleep. I sleep better when I’m with you and if I don’t sleep before a mission then the outcome could be dangerous. Illya, I am not trying to be dramatic, but I could literally die if you don’t sleep with me.”

He looks at her with the piercing blue eyes and sighs. “Is this really what you want? Regardless of the danger?”

“Have you been listening to me at all?” 

“This is what I want. Sleep and more than sleep.”

“I just want you to be safe.”

“This again? Have there been any specific threats against me?”

“Well, no, but—“

“You’re an idiot,” she says, leaning forward. She pauses, considering what she’s about to do, but then throws caution to the wind and throws herself on him. Her arms snake around his neck and she kisses him. “But you’re my idiot.”

She kisses down his neck, ignoring his sharp stubble. 

“Gaby,” he chokes out. 

“Yes?” she replies, only taking her lips off his neck for a second before returning to kissing him.

“Do, Блядь,” he begins, “do, do you want to take a shower?”

She laughs and kisses him on the lips. “I would love to take a shower with you.”

He carries her into the bathroom. They spend the day making up for lost time and she spends the night sleeping soundly, wrapped in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the prompt: "i literally can't sleep alone anymore so i've shown up at your door in my pajamas, can we have one more nap together, please?"


End file.
